Molly Weasley sat next to Hermione in the hospital, holding her hand. "Hermione." The elder woman's voice was soft, caring, but the brunette didn't even have the energy to turn her head to look at the other woman, let alone speak to her. She hadn't spoken a word in the past two days, not since - well, she just hadn't had anything to say. Molly tried again. "Hermione, Ron's waiting at home for you, I told him I'd come and pick you up so he had time to-" she stopped, the sentence trailing into silence as she realized what she'd been about to say. Hermione swallowed heavily, knowing full well what Ron had gone home to do.
He'd gone home to pack up the baby's supplies and put them away, put them where she couldn't see them. Hermione had asked him to do that days ago, but he hadn't wanted to leave her side, not until someone came to St Mungos to be with her. Molly had arrived that morning, and he'd immediately departed.
Exhaustion filled her every limb as Molly squeezed her hand before rising, going to the nightstand and gathering her things into a small bag she'd brought with her. When this was done, she came back and sat down again next to her daughter in law. "Hermione, you can't stay in the hospital forever, Ron's home-"
"Why not?" Hermione demanded, her voice cracking slightly as she finally turned to face Molly. Her eyes felt swollen, and given the fact she'd cried for nearly two days straight they probably were, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to look into a mirror. "Why can't I stay here? He - he was supposed to come home with us. I can't go home empty handed." Molly opened her mouth, but it was apparent she had no words to say. Nothing that would matter, anyway.
Hermione rose, her legs shaking as she walked slowly towards the bathroom, holding the hospital gown tightly. Harry had gone to their home and brought her clothes the day before, but he'd been unable to stay, giving her a kiss on the cheek before going to work, and the clothes had stayed in the bathroom.
Going in there now, she caught sight of herself, and winced. She looked awful, indeed. Her entire face was swollen, not just her eyes, and her hair, which had started out in a bun, now was a knot on the back of her head. She turned away, quickly slipping off the hospital gown and pulling on the pajama pants and one of Ron's old shirts, refusing to look at herself again, not wanting to see the sagged skin and sore breasts. Dressed, she chanced another look at the mirror, hating what she saw, before squeezing her eyes as tight as she could. Pain filled every inch of her, but it wasn't physical, it couldn't be fixed.
Molly was sitting calmly in the same chair when she walked out of the bathroom ten minutes later, and without a word, took the bag and headed towards the hospital room door. Hermione stopped a foot in front of it, staring at the wood but not seeing it, her mind's eye picturing the child she should have been holding in her arms and a joyful Ron beside her.
"Hermione," Molly said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder, "Sweetie, you're going to get hit by the door if you continue to stand there." Hermione pulled away and slowly reached a hand toward the door, inching it open.
The bright hall lights met her sore eyes, and she stared blankly at the bustling healers as they hurried to where they were needed. It was almost like entering another world just stepping through the threshold, but she managed, holding tightly to the small bag she carried as if it were her lifeline.
With a hand around her shoulders, Molly escorted her out of the hospital and to the small ministry car that waited outside. Hermione's boss had been kind enough to lend them the car after everything had happened, knowing her usual means of transportation were out of the question. Arthur, who'd quietly joined them in the hospital lobby, settled into the driver's seat and waited for his wife and Hermione to be settled in the back, before turning the key and having them be off.
It took nearly an hour for the Weasley's to get to Ron and Hermione's home, an hour of silence as Hermione leaned her head against the window and stared out it, her mind not fully registering what she was seeing. Arthur came around to her side of the car and opened the door for her, offering a hand to help her out. It took her a minute but she eventually accepted, slowly rising to her feet and staring at the small two bedroom home she and Ron were renting. It wasn't much, but they'd been so excited about moving in when they'd learned about her pregnancy.
Prior to the news there would be a Weasley-Granger baby, they'd lived in Grimmauld place with Harry and Ginny, who had just gotten married a few months before they had. Hermione hadn't minded; after the stress of the war it had been nice to be with friends without death looming over them.
But death didn't just come in the middle of wars, she had learned.
Ron greeted them at the door, a smile spreading on his freckled face at the sight of his wife up and about, but the smile slowly faded when she didn't reciprocate, until his lips formed a small line. He looked over at his mother, but Molly shook her head sadly as Arthur escorted his daughter in law into the house.
Her eyes caught the empty corner next to the second bedroom almost immediately. A week ago it'd been filled with things for the baby, diapers and clothes and small toys people had been giving them. She walked over to what was going to be the nursery, reaching for the knob, but Ron caught her hand, pulling her away and into his arms. She stood there for a minute, letting his warmth sink into her cold skin, before pulling herself out of his embrace, going into the bathroom, and shutting the door behind her.
On the other side she could hear Ron and his parents having an intent conversation but she ignored them, sitting on the edge of the toilet and rocking back and forth. This shouldn't be happening, she thought fiercely. None of this should have happened.
A week had passed since she'd been here, a week since she'd woken up in the middle of the night in so much pain the edges of her sight were blurred. She'd woken Ron up and they'd rushed to the hospital. Hours later, despite the potions they'd given her, an apologetic healer was taking her down to the delivery room.
Their son was immediately whisked away after his birth, and it wasn't until later they were allowed to see him. "His heart is failing," the healer told the new parents gently, as they stared into the bubble that held their child. "Unfortunately I do not believe he'll last the week."
The baby was terribly small, weighing a tenth of what Hermione remembered Teddy was at his birth. She placed her hand on the bubble and closed her eyes, picturing him in her arms as she sat in the rocking chair she'd convinced Ron they would need. "Can we - I want to hold him." But the healer shook his head, and Hermione's heart sank and tears welled up. She didn't shed them, however, as Ron gently placed his arm around her and held her as close as he could with her chair in between them.
The hospital staff was kind enough to let her keep the room; they weren't using it for any other patients and she and Ron couldn't afford a hotel.
Harry and Ginny came to visit the next morning, but they didn't stay long; Hermione was too focused on the baby and Ron too focused on his wife.
When it was clear the baby's death was coming three days after his birth, Hermione and Ron demanded to be allowed to hold him, and their wish was granted. And so when he passed, it was in his mum's arms with his father's hand on his head.
"I wanted to name him Daniel," Hermione said softly as the healers gently took his still form away from her. "Is that - would that be okay?" Ron, tears streaming down his face, only nodded.
The voices outside the bathroom grew louder, snapping Hermione somewhat out of her daze. At some point she'd climbed into the tub and was laying on her side, and almost without thought she reached up and turned the water on and pulled the lever for the spray, letting the hot water rush over her. The sound blocked out the arguing from the other side of the door and she lost herself in it, knowing nothing but the sound of the water coming out of the pipes.
When Ron came in half an hour later the water had gotten cold but she still lay there. Without a word her husband turned off the faucet and pulled her up, her soaked clothes sticking to him as he reached for a towel. She stood there, frozen, as he worked the wet clothes off her and wrapped her in the warm towel, taking her through the door that joined their bathroom and bedroom together, and sat her on the bed as he rifled through the dresser to find her something to wear. He settled on a tank and some shorts, but she shook her head as he offered them to her.
"Bra," she said hoarsely. "I'm - they're leaking, I can't just wear a shirt." Ron looked at her in confusion for a moment before the realization dawned on him and his face turned grim. He dug in her undergarments drawer for the pads she'd bought when she'd started leaking less than a month ago.
Once dressed (in warm, dry clothes) she climbed under the covers and faced the wall, the emptiness inside her growing until it spilled out in the form of tears.
Ron spent the next few days trying to comfort her, but nothing he could say or do could fix any of this.
Neither of them opened the door to the second bedroom.
Hermione didn't speak to him, either. She didn't speak to anyone, really, not even Harry and Ginny when they came to visit. Molly came daily, bringing food that Hermione picked at but didn't really eat, and attempting to help in her way - after all, she too had lost a son, even if Fred had been an adult. She knew the pain, regardless of the fact Fred had died a hero.
It was a relief when Ron went back to work two weeks later, leaving her in the home by herself. She spent the hours she was alone in the bed, only getting up to make dinner when Ron got home. Even this little thing took energy out of her, so much so she went straight back to bed once they'd eaten.
Hermione knew she was being unfair to her husband by not communicating with anyone, but it took so much effort that despite wanting to talk to him, despite wanting to get her feelings out in the open, she'd open her mouth but the words simply weren't there.
What was there to say?
So the weeks passed slowly, every day husband and wife grew further and further apart, the misery between them thick enough that anyone who stepped foot in their home felt it. It grew worse when Ginny came over, shyly letting them know she was expecting her's and Harry's first child. Hermione, who had been sitting with her at the kitchen table, stood up and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her with Ginny calling for her to come back.
That night they spoke. Well, fought, but it was something. It began during dinner. They'd been eating silently, and then-
"I lost him too," Ron said quietly, causing Hermione to look up at him. "Daniel was my son too."
"I know that," Hermione managed after a moment.
"Do you?" Ron's voice was sharp, accusing. "Because you don't even look at me, you won't let me touch you, fuck, Hermione, you won't even speak to me. I'm hurting here too, but you can't shut yourself away from me forever."
"I can do what I want, Ronald," she said coldly, standing up and dropping her plate in the sink before turning back around. "He was inside of me, Ron. I failed to keep him there. This is my fault." Her voice cracked. "You may be in pain, but you don't know what it was like for me. Until you do, leave me the hell alone."
She walked out, and had just shut the door behind her when she heard a plate slam against the wall, and dry sobbing follow. She leaned against the wooden door, momentarily thinking about going back in there, but instead she ignored it and went back to bed.
When Ron came to bed hours later smelling like whiskey, she ignored that too.
Two months had passed, and Hermione had attempted to go back to work. She'd gotten an hour into the shift before standing up, handing her badge to her boss, and walking out. He attempted to call her back, but all she could do was look at him and shake her head, before leaving the building.
Molly had come over earlier that morning, and she hadn't said anything for a long time, as the two women sat in the living room, unopened books on both of their laps - and then suddenly, her quiet voice caused Hermione to jump.
"You're still a mother, you know." Hermione lifted her eyes and caught the older woman's gaze. "Daniel is forever your son, and nobody could ever take that from you. Ron is - he doesn't have much experience in grief, but he's trying his best."
"I know he is," Hermione said, her voice cracking slightly. "But he can't help when it's my fault, Molly." The older woman shook her head, but Hermione ignored her, continuing. "He - the healers said it could have been caused by something I did, they don't know the reasoning behind it but that it's very rare-"
"The muggles don't even know what causes it," Molly interrupted. "Arthur had Bill take him to a muggle library and do research on it." Hermione looked at her in surprise. "Anencephaly is rare, but there isn't one known cause to it, Hermione you did nothing wrong. There was nothing you could have done."
"He was my son."
"And Fred was mine, and he died too." Molly's voice was sharp. "We mothers carry our children within us, and they're usually safe there - but once they're out in the world, Hermione, it's beyond our power to keep them completely safe." The two women looked at each other, tears spilling down their cheeks. "All we can do is love them while we have them, and love them even when they're gone."
That night, Ron was working the late shift and she was sitting at her desk, a book open in front of her - bookworm that she was, she hadn't read anything lately - when the fireplace lit up and Harry's face popped through, calling her name frantically. She rushed over, kneeling on the tile floor. "It's Ron," Harry told her, his voice coming out in a near panic. "He's been hurt."
The air whooshed out of her lungs and she sat back, the dizziness overtaking her momentarily before she shook it away. "I'm on my way," she said.
But when she got there, the healers wouldn't let her in to see Ron right away. As angry as this made her, she didn't let them see it. She simply turned around, walking away from them.
Going into the bathroom and splashing cold water on her face calmed her and made her better prepared to face whatever was happening.
When the healer finally came out to talk to her, she'd managed to convince herself he was permanently maimed and they had been trying to figure out the best way to tell her.
They had been attacked by death eater stragglers and Ron had gotten the brunt of the nasty spells. His heart had damage, but the healer was quick to assure her they'd take the utmost care to make sure it wasn't permanent. "Anything for the war hero right?" Hermione said darkly. She was ignored as the healer went on, detailing tests and potions and future treatments, but Hermione had tuned , straining to see into the small hospital room. It took him a bit, but soon the healer realized she'd stopped paying attention and allowed her to go sit by her husband.
Ron wasn't awake yet, and seeing him so still in the bed brought back the memory of when he had been poisoned back at school and the only thing that had kept him alive was Harry's quick thinking. The memory also brought the war back to the forefront of her mind, the fear of one of them not making it out alive strong.
She moved a chair over next to the bed and sat in it, taking Ron's hand in hers and squeezing it lightly. He didn't move, but that was okay; she sat there for a long while, getting lost in her thoughts.
How could she have been so selfish these months? How could she have let the rift grow between them to the point they didn't even talk anymore, not even to say good morning or good night? They'd become two strangers living in the same home, and if he'd died-
A low groan jolted her out of her thoughts, and she quickly looked over at Ron's face to see he'd woken up, his blue eyes searching her as if he couldn't quite believe she was there with him. "You came." His voice was soft, and it brought tears to her eyes as she nodded. "I didn't know if you would."
"Why wouldn't I?" she whispered, squeezing his hand again. He shrugged slightly, wincing at the movement. "Ron-"
"No, it's okay," he said, giving her a quick smile. "You don't have to apologize. You - we've been hurting."
A healer chose that moment to enter, and the couple fell silent, both regretting the past months. One little thing could have changed everything, and they could have lost this moment to apologize and make amends forever, and Hermione would have never forgiven herself if that had happened.
When the healer left, Ron spoke again. "I never blamed you for Daniel," he told her, and tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. "It was a fluke, him being born like that and too early to boot - you had nothing to do with it, and please don't ever blame yourself again."
"I can't promise that," Hermione said, her voice rough, but it earned her a small grin from her husband in the hospital bed.
The healers didn't let Ron go home for two weeks. They were able to stabilize him, but he'd live with with health problems for the rest of his life, but with care, it wouldn't shorten his life.
Their marriage took effort. They saw a therapist as they tried to fix what had been broken, but it was slow work. In fact, a year later they were still struggling, but it was going better than it had been in those first months after Daniel died.
They discussed having more children, especially after Ginny gave birth to little James, but they decided to wait a little while.
This lasted about a year, before Hermione found out she was pregnant again.
Fear enveloped them both throughout those nine months, but when little Rose was born, it faded a little. Mother and father loved their little girl, but as she grew, and as their next child, Hugo, grew, they couldn't help but imagine how old Daniel would be at various points in their lives.
The loss was always there, but they didn't let it swallow them whole anymore.